


Mysterious Ways

by moonblossom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Job, Hand Job, M/M, Mild BDSM, Rope Bondage, Songfic, U2 - Freeform, sub!Sherlock, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:05:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1376602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonblossom/pseuds/moonblossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To touch is to heal, to hurt is to steal, if you want to kiss the sky you'd better learn how to kneel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mysterious Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Written for RedScudery's _Achtung Baby!_ songfic challenge. The song I chose was (obviously) [Mysterious Ways](http://www.u2.com/discography/lyrics/lyric/albumId/4038/song/90). I've never written a songfic before, and I ended up sort of deviating, being inspired by bits of the song and turning snippets of lyrics into dialogue.

Sherlock is buzzing, fidgeting, squirming out of his skin. All that excess energy with no outlet. John studies him for a moment. It’s been four days since they’ve solved a case, and Sherlock has cut up every available bit of flesh in the flat. Some he studied, some he experimented on, some he left to moulder in the bathroom. John’s trying to be sympathetic, but his patience is wearing thin.

“If you let me have a ciga--”

“No, we’ve talked about this.”

“But John--”

“No.” John clasps his hands in his lap. “Go to the bedroom. Strip. Wait for me.”

Sherlock’s gulp is audible from across the sitting room. John can see the faint flush across his cheeks, the slight dilation of his pupils, even as he tries to argue.

“Don’t even try to say no, Sherlock Holmes. Do as you’re bid.”

John allows himself a moment of smug pride, chuckling at the Sherlock’s haste to scramble into the bedroom. He gets up, takes his time, putters in the kitchen for a moment. He pours a couple of glasses of water, knowing they’ll be needed later, and makes sure to give Sherlock enough time to prepare himself.

The bedroom lights are off, the window is open. The fluttering drapes frame the moon, letting her pale light in to fill up the room. The moonlight paints Sherlock in silver and shadow, a dusky photograph made all the more erotic for the obscurity. He's standing by the foot of the bed, hands expectantly clasped behind his back, head bowed. His cock is mostly hidden in shadow, yet still obviously starting to thicken in anticipation. He is calmer already, the picture of peaceful, eager submission. The sight makes John's breath catch in his throat.

He crosses the bedroom, placing the two glasses of water on the bedstand and rummaging quickly through one of the drawers, pulling out a length of soft white nylon rope. He notices Sherlock looking, sees his eyes widen with excitement.

Slowly, John circles Sherlock. He stands behind him, reaching around to pinch his nipples, rolling them between thumb and forefinger as they stiffen. John runs one hand down the bare, silky skin of Sherlock’s ribs, stopping to rest just above the gentle swell of his glutes. He can see Sherlock’s respiration rate picking up, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly. John presses a gentle kiss between Sherlock’s scapulae as his fingers drag up and over the curve of Sherlock’s hip, across his abdomen, tugging gently on the trail of hair below his navel. Sherlock gasps quietly.

“Will you behave? Or do I need to use this?” Gently, he strokes the coiled rope across the lushness of Sherlock’s arse.

“I… I don’t know.” Sherlock’s discomposure is delicious, and John feels his body responding. He shifts, adjusting himself in his jeans. He kisses the back of Sherlock’s neck, the sparse curls there tickling his cheek.

“Mmm, good of you to admit it. Better to be safe then.” He gives Sherlock a gentle shove, coaxing him down onto the ground. "On your knees, boy."

John drops to the ground behind Sherlock, gently but securely knotting one end of the cord around both his wrists. He rubs his cheek behind Sherlock's ear while tightening the rope, pulling Sherlock's centre of gravity backwards. As he loops the loose end of the rope around Sherlock's ankles, he murmurs questioningly against the soft, fragrant skin where Sherlock's neck meets his shoulder.

"Safeword?"

Sherlock snorts impatiently. Undaunted, John tugs the cord tighter. Sherlock whimpers and sighs in resignation.

"Rain."

"Mm, good."

John stands, brushing his knees off, and steps back to admire his work. Sherlock's back is arched, his shoulders pulled back and balanced over his pale calves. The position thrusts his chest up towards the ceiling, puts his cock -- already at full hardness -- on prominent display. His eyes are heavily lidded, his mouth half-open in heated arousal. He looks like a spectacularly filthy Bernini sculpture. With a groan, John undoes his flies, relieving the pressure on his own growing erection.

"Look at me, Sherlock." His voice is calm and steady, but laden with command. Eyes still closed, Sherlock swallows heavily and John follows the bob of his throat with his eyes.

"I won't ask you again. Look at me." He cups Sherlock's jaw, exerting gentle pressure, but doesn't force him to do anything. Simply a reminder. When the boredom first set in, Sherlock retracted into himself, running away from things neither of them really understood, and this is the only way to bring him back out.

As soon as Sherlock obeys, John lets go. He pulls down his pants and pulls his cock out, tugging slowly on it. He bites his cheek, determined not to make a sound as he fills out completely. Sherlock stares at him hungrily. The glimmer in his eyes could light up the night. John smirks and looks down at his own cock, rapidly heading to full hardness. He squeezes the base before sliding his hand up slowly, pulling his foreskin over the head.

He can't help the groan that escapes his lips as he slides his hand back down, and Sherlock whimpers. Smirking, John steps forward, close enough to feel the heat emanating off Sherlock's body but still far enough away that Sherlock can't quite reach him. Sherlock whines again and leans forward, reaching with his tongue.

For a moment John nearly forgets who's in charge here, but as soon as he notices Sherlock trying to shimmy forward on his knees, he grips his cock again and tuts.

"Sherlock. Don't remember saying you could move yet."

His only reply is a stubborn, irritable huff of breath. He's still too proud to beg, but that won't last. John resumes stroking himself at a steady pace. He glances down at Sherlock's cock, still rock-hard and leaking slightly now. Sherlock catches John's eye and runs his tongue over his lips, tracing his full lower lip before drawing attention to his cupid's bow, and John's resolve nearly crumbles. He groans, fisting himself quicker now, and steps forward to rub the head of his cock over Sherlock's mouth.

"Open..."

For a moment, Sherlock almost looks as though he's about to argue, just to be spiteful. John merely raises one eyebrow and Sherlock relents. He looks down at the floor, parting his lips in clear invitation. John wraps one hand around the back of Sherlock's neck, fingers threading through the fine hair at his nape as he slides his cock into the moist heat of Sherlock's mouth.

Christ. It's warm and wet and Sherlock's pursing his lips, forming a tight ring around the shaft. John grunts, rocking his hips. He looks down at Sherlock, studies his face. It's in shadow again, desaturated and vague, the hollows under his cheekbones thrown into sharp relief as he sucks. John cradles Sherlock's head in both hands and thrusts, feeling the head of his cock slide over the ridges of Sherlock's hard palate, bump up against the back of his throat.

Sherlock gags slightly, contracting around John's cock, and John pulls back. Sherlock whines through his nose and shakes his head, sucking with even more fervor. John hisses and bites his lip, trying to calm the furious pounding in his chest and his cock. Sherlock's body language is painfully clear as he tightens his lips again, tongue curling around the shaft of John's erection. He's straining against his bonds, arching upwards, trying to take in as much of John as he can.

John stutters, spitting out bitten-off curses and incoherent groans, and gives in to his basest urges. He grips Sherlock's head, fingers tangling through his hair, tugging on his follicles. He feels, more than hears, as Sherlock moans ecstatically around his erection. His knees are getting weak, and he leans forward slightly. Sherlock mirror him, leaning forward to balance them. It's the faint tickle of Sherlock's curls against John's abdomen, more than anything else, that light up the night, setting off fireworks behind his eyes.

With a grunt, John comes deep inside Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock sucks vigorously, clearly determined to swallow every last drop. John's legs threaten to give out as Sherlock flutters his tongue one last time against John's fraenulum before sliding his mouth off, releasing John's cock with an obscene, wet noise.

Wobbly, John drops to his knees, so he's nearly level with Sherlock. He tucks himself back into his pants but doesn't bother to do up his jeans. John shimmies around so he's pressed against Sherlock's arms, the rope digging into his hip. He runs his lips open-mouthed along Sherlock's shoulder, dragging his teeth lightly across the clammy skin. Sherlock gasps.

John wraps his arms around Sherlock, one pressed tightly against his chest, the other finding its way to his cock. He's still so hard it must be painful, the head of his prick covered in slick fluid. John runs his palm over the tip, spreading it around, and feels Sherlock trembling and bucking against him.

"Fuck, Sherlock. You're gorgeous..." He squeezes his hand, gripping Sherlock tightly, and strokes once, teasingly. Sherlock arches up into the contact as much as possible, but his range of movement is limited by the ropes. As soon as he stills, John strokes him again. Sherlock whimpers, writhes against his bonds.

"Please, John... Please."

Taking pity on him, John stops teasing. He strokes Sherlock hard and fast, no finesse, but that's what they both need right now. With his free hand, he pinches Sherlock's right nipple, rolling it between his fingers and dragging his nail over it. He can feel Sherlock's cock twitching in his fist, and redoubles his pace.

The orgasm is sudden and violent, Sherlock crying out a second before John feels the come flowing out over his fingers. He's trembling, shuddering against John's shoulder. As the last wave of his orgasm hits, spilling out over John's hand and across his own abdomen, Sherlock goes limp, slumping down as much as the bonds will let him.

Still gently stroking him through the aftershocks, John tips his head up and runs his lips across Sherlock's neck as he moans and gasps. Wiping his hand on his jeans, John works quickly to undo the complex series of knots holding Sherlock in place. Once they're undone, he lowers Sherlock's trembling form carefully to the floor.

"Shhh.... It's alright, it's alright," John murmurs, lips pressed against Sherlock's clammy forehead. "It's alright."

"John..." Sherlock's eyes are wide and glassy, but his face is peaceful and relaxed.

"I'm here, I'm here. Deep breaths." John rubs Sherlock's wrists and ankles, encouraging circulation back into them and soothing the spots where the rope has dug in. "I'm just getting you some water, not going anywhere..."

With a groan, he lifts himself off the floor and reaches for the glasses left on the nightstand. He drops down again, cradling Sherlock's head against his knees and tips the water into Sherlock's parted lips. He gulps down the entire glass eagerly, and John strokes his forehead.

"John..." Sherlock gasps again. "Thank you. I can think again. My head was so... noisy."

John says nothing, merely nods and holds Sherlock for as long as he needs it. Once Sherlock's breathing slows and steadies, John wipes him down with a damp flannel and helps him up into bed. He falls asleep nearly immediately, and John settles in next to him, calm and content.


End file.
